Alternative Twelfth Doctor Regeneration Scene
by DoctorAsh42
Summary: This started out as a YouTube comment that sort of satirised the lengthy, over-dramatic nature of modern regenerations, however, it ended up getting way out of hand. This was written before Twice Upon a Time aired, so there are contradictions to that story. It features my own, alternative Thirteenth Doctor -the Othirteenth Doctor - for whom I will be writing a series of adventures.


The Doctor stumbled through the doors of the TARDIS and leaned back, pushing them shut. His body was weary and it was all he could do to hold himself up. He looked around the dim, empty console room. There wasn't a single sound to be heard, other than the gentle hum of the ship's engines. He was home. And he was alone. There was a single chime from the Cloister Bell and The Doctor gave a crooked smile. No, he wasn't alone. She was there for him. She always was. He looked at his hand and his smile slipped away. It was glowing with an increasing amount of golden energy. It was time.

With a degree of effort he pushed himself away from the doors and began to walk towards the console.

Something caught his eye – it was one of his chalkboards. He stopped and looked at a particularly difficult problem that he'd been working on earlier. Suddenly it all seemed so clear to him. He walked over to the board and picked up a long stick of chalk. He closed his eyes and breathed in that sweet scent. He wondered whether his new self would still appreciate the subtle beauty of chalk.

He frowned in concentration and poked his tongue out a little as he tapped away on the board, doing sums and correcting miscalculations at a rate that no human could. Finally, he had it.

He dropped the chalk and it hit the ground hard, bouncing up and sending small chunks of itself flying away, before landing again and rolling off into the darkness, never to be seen again.

The Doctor stood back to examine his work and laughed sadly. The answer was thirteen. Of course it was.

He turned away from the board and finished his trek to the console. He was about to set the controls when something else caught his eye: his electric guitar. He picked it up and examined it tenderly, like a parent holding a newborn baby for the first time. Would his new self still play the guitar? Or would it be cast aside, just like the recorder, spoons, cricket or a dozen other instruments and hobbies he'd picked up over his many lives?

His slipped the strap over his head and spent a moment tuning the instrument, before gently playing a few chords of a piece he'd composed years ago. He was pretty sure that it was called _Clara_.

The sweet, yet somehow sorrowful notes played out throughout the cavernous console room, golden energy pulsing and fluctuating with the movements of his hands. It was like watching faeries dancing to a summer garden orchestra.

He came to the end of the tune and sighed. He slipped the guitar off and propped it up against a wall, knowing full well that he might never pick it up again.

Finally, knowing that he could delay his fate no longer, he set the controls for an orbit around the Earth, leaning his whole body weight against the console to push the final lever.

The Time Rotor began to rise and fall in its familiar, rhythmic motion as the TARDIS' engines stirred to life and the old girl took flight, grinding out its trademark groaning, wheezing sound.

The Doctor turned around and leaned against the console, his expression sombre. The golden energy was getting brighter and beginning to dance around his head now. He couldn't hold it back for much longer. Grimly, he reached up and undid the top button of his shirt, in much the same fashion that he'd once removed his bow-tie.

He knew that he didn't have much time left, but it was his life damn it, so he was going to squeeze out every last second that he could. He was a Time Lord, after all.

He started thinking back over everything that he had seen and done during this life; everything that he'd accomplished. The people he'd met and the loved ones he'd lost. There was Bill, who didn't deserve the fate that she'd received, and Nardole, whom he'd never treated with the respect he'd deserved. There'd been the Collins family, Hattie, Jata, Dolly and so many others.

He remembered a monster under the Thames and a lost Roman legion. He'd seen killer emoji robots and fought alongside a superhero in New York City. Then, of course, there were the twenty-four years he'd spent on Darillium with River; a single night that had ultimately proven to be too short.

He cast his mind further back, to Sherwood Forest, where he had fought Robin Hood with a spoon. He remembered a mummy on the Orient Express, ghosts under a lake and an eternity spent in his confession dial. All of these adventures alongside a girl without a face, a girl who was gone in all but name.

"Clara," he whispered as he closed his eyes and scrunched up his face in concentration. Now more than ever, he wished that he could remember her.

Suddenly he could feel a breath against his cheek and the lightest touch of hair hanging over his shoulder, like somebody was leaning in towards him. A voice whispered in his ear, "Run you clever boy, and remember me."

His eyes sprung open and he looked all around him, but there wasn't anybody to be seen. Then it hit him.

"Clara," he gasped as memories came flooding back to him – memories of a girl; of an impossible girl who, it seemed, had performed one last impossible act.

He put a hand to his mouth as he choked back tears. Despite this though, his mouth stretched into a grin. He could see her now, as clearly as ever, fighting by his side, running for their lives and having a blast along the way.

"Did you do this?" he asked, looking up into the vast space above him.

The TARDIS let out a single toll from its Cloister Bell and The Doctor's face set into a fierce grin, his tears drying up.

With renewed vigour, he spun around and his hands began dancing over the console once more. "An orbit of the Earth? Pfft, boring! What a stupid way to go out and an even worse way to come in. No, we need something exciting, come on old girl, I'm sure that you can find us something fun."

His hearts were racing and there was a spring his step. He looked at the golden energy that was still building up around his hands – he was ready. That was until a sudden realisation struck him.

"Regeneration energy!" he yelled. "Too much regeneration energy!"

Each time a Time Lord regenerated they released more and more regeneration energy, which was why they had their cycle limited to twelve regenerations. Any more than that and the amount of energy released became too dangerous. But since The Doctor had never been good at playing by the rules, he'd breached that limit and as such, his last couple of regenerations had been particularly explosive.

He spun around frantically, looking at the console room. The last time he'd regenerated inside the TARDIS, on what should have been his final regeneration, the resulting energy had destroyed the console room and sent the ship crashing to Earth. He really didn't want to have a repeat of that if possible.

He looked at his hands and the energy that had amassed there. It looked like he might not have a choice. Then it hit him.

"The Zero Room!" he yelled, before rushing through a door and out into a corridor.

The Zero Room was designed specifically to aid Time Lords during their regenerations and as such could withstand the destructive force of regeneration energy. He'd had to jettison it a few times over the centuries, but fortunately, he was currently in possession of one.

He jolted out into the corridor, leaving a trail of golden energy behind him, like he was some sort of comet. He managed to keep up at a steady sprint for a while, but soon his second wind gave out and he stopped, doubling over and puffing. He was still technically dying and although the regeneration had indeed started healing him, he still wouldn't be one hundred per cent better until he let the process reach its climax.

He swallowed hard and propped himself against the wall, using it to push him along. He was thankful that the Zero Room wasn't too far away from the console room.

After about three or four more minutes of practically sliding along the wall, he came to a door set inside a hexagonal doorway, much like all of the other doors in the TARDIS' current configuration. He leaned into it, putting all of his weight into it and without much warning, the doors slid open, causing him to groan as he fell to the floor on the other side.

The effect of the Zero Room was immediate – he felt a sense of ease and tranquillity wash over him. Since the room was completely cut off from the rest of the universe, it was one of the best places in the universe for a good, solid rest.

He laid there on the ground, face down and just staring absently at his glowing hand. The floor didn't even feel cold on his face, thanks to the warm glow of the regeneration energy. He felt so at ease that for a moment he seriously contemplated just staying there. He felt like going to sleep.

No.

That's not who he was anymore. If he was going out, then he'd go out on his feet, standing against the universe.

With a great deal of effort and a degree of pain, he propped himself up, first to his knees and then finally to his feet. He staggered a little, but there wasn't anything to grab on to, so he had to regain his balance naturally.

He looked around at the room. It was big, spacious and most noticeably, had retained its original design – all sterile white with those big roundels that he used to love so much.

"The round things are back," he muttered with a smile, "love the round things."

He wasn't sure whether it was the effect of the room, the regeneration, his injuries or some combination of all three, but he was really beginning to feel drowsy. He snapped himself to attention, determined not go out like that anymore.

He knew that his time was up, but he wanted to make one last statement; one last bold declaration to the universe. He thought back to the beginning of this life. He'd come into this world with a question, one which he'd asked not only Clara, but himself. A question which, up until that very moment, he hadn't realised that he'd spent his whole life – all of his lives – trying to answer.

He smiled a wicked smile as the energy continued to build up around his face.

"I was The Doctor," he said with glee, "and he is a good man!"

With that, he threw his head back and cast his arms out wide as great plumes of that dazzling, golden energy erupted from his body. He was like a volcano of golden light as regeneration energy poured from his sleeves and up through his collar, fountaining up and out into the ceiling and walls and crashing like great waves breaking on the beach. It wasn't long before the whole room was cast in a golden glow.

Inside the plume, The Doctor's face was still locked in that wicked grin, his eyebrows as fierce as ever. But gradually they began to change, as did the rest of his face.

His brow became softer, his jaw became squarer. His hair grew shorter and seemed to become darker; his eyes changed from blue to brown and his face lost many of its lines and wrinkles. All of this happened in one seamless transition – a morph from one face into another.

Then, with its work done, the energy cut off, firing its last whips of golden light into the atmosphere, before dissipating.

The Doctor hunched over, his arms and head hanging low. Suddenly he shot his head up, "Humans perverting the course of Sontaran history!" he yelled with an accent that may have been Welsh. "No, that's not right," he said, confused.

He looked down at his hands, twisting them around to examine them. "Young! I'm young again!" he beamed. "Well, young_er_, at least. Excellent!"

He stumbled out the door and back into the corridor, nearly losing his balance. "Ooh, shoes are too tight," he noted. "Oh well, easily fixed Jo, we'll just reverse the polarity of the neutron flow. What?" he said, cocking his head. "That doesn't make a lick of sense."

He continued stumbling back up the corridor in his ill-fitting shoes, twirling around every once in a while, trying to get a better look at his new body.

"Nice and fit," he said with satisfaction, "perfect for running!" Suddenly a look of shock appeared on his newly born face. "Jamie, when I say run, run! Allons-y! Geronimo! Brave heart, Tegan! Oh, fantastic!"

He stopped in his tracks and began hitting the side of his head with the palm of his left hand. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, you pudding brains, you've all already had your turns! Oh," he said with wide eyes, "I see what you did there, you cheeky devil, trying to get the last word in."

He burst into the console room and bounded up the stairs to the console, his coat billowing behind him. "Hello old girl," he yelled, thrusting his arms out wide in the air, "did you miss me? What do you think of the new look?" he said, clapping his hands to his face. "To be honest, I haven't had the chance to take a proper look yet, but I think there's some promise here. There's some nice, strong bone structure under here," he said as he rubbed and squished his cheeks, "and the eyebrows seem to have become more manageable," he said as he brushed them with his fingers. "Of course, it's a bit disconcerting to find that this face has come with a bit of stubble, but that's OK, maybe I'll be the rough and tumble, rugged type. But what if I'm not," he said with alarm. "I'll have to regenerate again!" he said, panicking. "Or, I could just shave," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, that would probably be the better idea."

He walked around the console, running his hand along its surface, feeling it for the first time with those fingers. "I see we've landed, but that was the old me who set the co-ordinates and I think we'll find that my tastes have changed. Possibly. Time for a new destination," he said as he stopped and hovered his hands over one of the panels. "After all, you have to go out and find adventure, don't you? You can't just stand still and wait for it to come knocking on your door."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

His head shot up and very slowly, he turned around to face the dimensional interface – the one that presented itself as the TARDIS' exterior doors.

"Why is it always four knocks?" he said.

Knock-knock-knock-knock! "Hello," came a voice from the other side. "Hello, is the doctor in there?"

Knock-knock-knock-knock! "Hello, I'm looking for a doctor! Please!"

The Doctor looked back at the console and gave a lascivious grin. "Oh, you sly old girl."

**The Othirteenth Doctor will return in...**

_**Unlucky for Some**_

6


End file.
